


Zoo

by swimmingfox



Series: Potential [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (quite pleased with this one), And literally ever, Animals, Bad News, Bear Island ROCK, Bristol, F/M, Four weddings and a funeral (maybe), Green Tea - Freeform, Haikus, Hilarity, JOJAQ, Jojen POV is BACK, Jojen is my bb, JojoBran, M/M, Missandedd, Modern AU, Mushrooms, Nuptials, Pimms - Freeform, Podrya, Potential forever, Robin POV is BACK, Robin is getting more glorious IMO, Tygritte, UK - Freeform, Weddings, Weed, Well not really, Yes Really, Zoo, a little sting in the tail, artwanker, band karaoke, because what is Potential without more singing, joy, potential, sansan, silliness, zoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:30:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/pseuds/swimmingfox
Summary: A Potential wedding! WHO COULD IT BE?It's Arya and Podrick, of course, getting married at Bristol Zoo because WHY THE HELL NOT. Plus: Sansa and Sandor are tackling new things, Robin is a teenager on a mission, Jojen is wrestling with his heartbreak, and various crackships may occur. Plenty of band karaoke, animal nonsense and a little sting in the tail...Part of the 'Potential' series! Best to start on Potential 1 (for the glory of Podrya) or Potential 2 aka Rebound (for the SanSan) if you are new to this nonsense! It's very much an ensemble piece these days, but with plenty of SanSan for the believers.





	1. Howler Monkey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlux/gifts), [Aschen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aschen/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO! It's here! Arya and Pod get their bad selves hitched.
> 
> For Lady Bex, of course (co-captain of the Ship Podrya) plus newest badass speed-reader Aschen.

**Robin**

‘Smile!’ 

Bristol Zoo was one of the oldest in the world. Its Clifton Pavilion was a beautiful white 1920s building surrounded by landscaped gardens, and from here you could just see the flamingo lake and varous gobstopper-coloured birds flying around. Robin had given up denying to his mature teenage self how excited he was to see all the animals later, and was currently trying extremely hard to get a selfie with one of the parrots.

‘Jesus, mate. You look sharp as fuck.’

Robin turned round to see one of his all-time favourite people standing there with a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. ‘Jojen!’ He gave him a hug.

Jojen looked rather knackered. He squinted at Robin. ‘Seriously, you’ve grown about a foot since I last saw you.’

‘Yeah.’ Robin shrugged. At sixteen, he was taller than Thoros now, disconcertingly. Lysa kept calling him a beanpole and joking about his little brother Ivan climbing him. Sometimes Robin let him. Today, he was wearing a new tartan suit he found in his local Traid store, complete with biker boots and a very large silver ring. ‘You look awesome, too,’ he said.

‘Cheers, mate. Thought I’d better go all out.’ Jojen was in a pale pink suit and tie, rather the opposite of his usual all-black and-grey look. ‘What’s new?’ he said. ‘Been following all of your band escapades on Instagram.’

‘Yeah, it’s all good. I’ve got three on the go.’ Sweetrobin and the Vale (prog-rock-classical) was his longest-standing outfit. Milk Float Attack (prog-rock-classical-jazz) was the second oldest, and Moondoor (prog-rock-classical-jazz-metal) the most recent. All of them had a fluctuating line-up, depending on the talent (and tolerance level) of his fellow musicians – Robin, in the vein of The Fall’s Mark E. Smith, was a mercenary band leader.

‘‘Course you have,’ said Jojen, with a mild grin. ‘Which one is it tonight?’

‘None of them actually. I’m fronting Lyanna’s band.’ Robin had been completely terrified for both rehearsals, seeing as Bear Island consisted of not one but three empowered, moody young women.

‘Safe, bro.' 

‘Are you just in from New York?’ There definitely wasn’t anything cooler than living in New York. Robin often daydreamed about living in a loft apartment in Brooklyn, writing space-operas and living on hot dogs and pierogis.

‘Yep.’ Jojen relit his roll-up. ‘Jetlagged as a motherfucker.’

Robin let out a happy sigh. ‘Um, Jojen?’ He’d decided three weeks ago about today’s all-important mission and he desperately wanted to tell someone.

‘Yep?’ Jojen seemed a little distracted.

It could wait. ‘This wedding is going to be the sickest wedding of all weddings evs,’ he said instead, merrily.

Jojen rolled his shoulders back and watched a parrot fly across his head. ‘No question, mate.’

‘Um, I’m not sure you’re meant to smoke in here. You know, animals and everything. Bit annoying.’ In truth, Robin wasn’t into smoking. He had secretly tried Thoros’ homemade herbal cigarettes on two occasions, but they made him violently ill and he’d had to pretend he’d eaten too many of Lysa’s weird vegetable and mugwort bars.

Jojen looked askance for a moment, before stubbing it against a post. ‘Well, this’ll be interesting.’ He winked at Robin. ‘I’d better go find the harem.’

***

**Arya**

‘Stop crying.’

‘I can’t help it.’

‘You can totally help it.’

‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’

‘Stop crying or I’m demoting you from head bridesmaid,’ said Arya.

Sansa sighed, and put a tissue underneath her eyes again. ‘You just look so beautiful. I’ve never seen you more beautiful.’ She started blubbing again.

‘It’s true, babe,’ said Missy, aka bridesmaid number two. ‘You are completely slaying it. Look up,’ she said to Arya, before adding mascara to her bottom lashes.

Arya looked at herself in the mirror as Missy continued touching up her make-up in one of Clifton Pavilion’s side rooms. She didn’t wear dresses very often. But it was true that she felt pretty fucking badass in this one. 

There was still a soundtrack of snotty weeping behind her. ‘Seriously, sis. I’m telling you. If you keep crying, you are banned.’

‘And I’m going to have to do your make-up again,’ said Missy.

‘I will stop crying,’ said Sansa, through a flood of tears. ‘I will absolutely stop really soon.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ said Arya.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Jojen put his head round. ‘Is it safe?’

Arya resisted the urge to leap on him, and stayed very still as Missy finished her eyes up. ‘Yo,’ she said. ‘Liking the suit.’

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he said, coming over and kissing her on the cheek. ‘Maid of Dishonour reporting for duty.’

‘Jojen,’ sobbed Sansa. ‘You look _incredible_. Like a _model _.’__

____

‘Hello, mate,’ he said to Sansa as he straightened. Smiled at Missy. ‘Same goes for you two goddesses. Off the charts.’

____

‘She won’t stop crying,’ Arya said to Jojen.

____

‘Understandable,’ he said. Winked.

____

Another knock, and Pod put his head round the door. The man about to become her husband. She grinned at him through the mirror and he grinned back and she thought _this is the best fucking day of my life._

____

‘Podrick,’ said Sansa, suddenly forgetting her tears. ‘You look so handsome and lovely and adorable, but you can’t come in.’

____

‘I’ve been in once already,’ said Pod. ‘And this one wanted to show you her dress.’

____

Aoife, aka flower girl, tottered in, holding her daddy’s hand. She was clad in a mini-version of Sansa and Missy’s boho pale pink lace, and had a little flower headband covering her brown hair.

____

‘Oh God,’ said Sansa, reaching for more tissues. ‘I can’t even. Literally.’

____

‘Look at you, you mad little pumpkin,’ said Arya to her daughter.

____

‘Mummy,’ said Aoife, clutching her. ‘Where zoo?’

____

‘Zoo is right here,’ said Arya. ‘Literally in this room at the moment. One howling monkey auntie.’ She gently lifted Aoife’s hands from her skirt. ‘Please don’t destroy my dress for about one more hour.’

____

Pod lifted her up before leaning down to kiss Arya, and for a tiny moment, the rest of the room, Missy and her eyeliner, her sister bawling, all disappeared, and there was nothing but him. 

____

‘See you in a bit, then,’ he said, with a gentle, nearly-husband beam.

____

***

____

**Jojen**

____

There he was. From the window outside the dressing room, Jojen could see the crowd milling in the gardens, chatting and glugging Pimm’s. Plenty of people he knew – his sister, Ygritte, Pyp, Robin and family, Theon and Yara, Rickon, Lyanna. But they all blurred into soft-focus around the one person he’d been hoping, dreading, to see again.

____

Bran. Leaning elegantly on his crutch, talking to his brother Robb, wearing a pale blue suit. His hair was a little shorter. Killing Jojen, one heartbeat at a time.

____

The last year had been vicious. Bran had closed the book on them so swiftly and incisively. Jojen had elected to stay in New York in the hope that the Atlantic Ocean would soak up at least some of the pain. There’d been several destructive months, hardly working, spending a lot of time in cruise and fetish clubs numbly watching men get fucked or getting numbly fucked himself. It had got pretty dark once or twice. He’d considered becoming a rent boy until one of his student mates had pulled him out of his spiral of anguish and got him a job as a photographer’s assistant.

____

‘Hey, babe.’ Missy had come to join him, Cat having joined her daughters. ‘Thought I’d leave the fam to it for a sec.’ She followed his gaze. ‘You going to be OK today?’ 

____

‘Mmm.’ Jesus, he felt as jittery as fuck. He wanted five cigarettes immediately.

____

‘Come here.’ Missy turned him towards her. ‘Got to pin this on.’ She fixed the little wildflower spray – Arya had wanted as much wildness in this wedding as possible – to his lapel. ‘You don’t have to talk to him,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘Plenty of other people to talk to.’

____

‘I think I probably do,’ he said, feeling equal parts fear, lachrymosity and wistfulness.

____

‘There,’ she said, smoothing his suit jacket down. ‘All done.’ Her eyes flickered down to the crowd again, a small smile as she spotted Edd standing by the Pimm’s bar, with his usual, faintly discomfited, Last Post air.

____

‘He’s lucky to have you, you know,’ Jojen said. He was feeling teary already and it hadn’t even started. ‘If I wasn’t flamingly fucking gay . . .’

____

‘I know,’ said Missy. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Come on, brave soldier. Just give me a shout if you need rescuing today. Promise?’

____

‘Promise,’ said Jojen.

____

***

____

**Sandor**

____

A slap on the back. ‘Alright, mucker.’ Bronn wasn’t exactly a dear friend of Arya’s, but Pod had been on enough pub crawls with him and Sandor to warrant an invite. And Brienne, who knew the Bear Keeper, had sorted a venue hire discount.

____

‘Alright, pal,’ said Sandor, waiting outside the ceremony room as people filed in. He was supposed to be an usher, but there didn’t seem to be much ushering to be done. Pod was down at the front, smiling his head off, talking to the small bloke who was his boss and best man.

____

Bronn looked Sandor up and down. ‘Very dapper.’

____

The men of the wedding party were in matching royal blue suits. Sansa had taken thirty-five photos of him earlier, ‘for highly important personal reasons’, she’d said. Sandor was just thankful he wasn’t wearing pink like Jojen.

____

‘We only ever seem to see each other at weddings, Sandor,’ said Brienne, looking fearsome and preposterously tall next to their kid, Oscar, who was currently picking his nose and examining it.

____

‘Aye. Seems that way.’

____

‘Where’s the missus?’ Bronn said.

____

‘She’ll be along. Bridesmaid.’

____

‘Gotcha. Alright, we’ll go take our pews. Come on, you little bugger.’ Bronn hefted up his son. 

____

Sandor faintly waved a few people in the direction of the chairs, thinking of his own wedding. How Sansa had puked on her dress, Meera’s rescue, what a bloody beautiful mess she’d been.

____

‘Hello, baby,’ said a wavering voice behind him.

____

He turned, and there they all were. Arya, Ned, Missy, Sansa, Jojen and his niece. 

____

Sansa and Missy were in the same pale pink dresses. Her current blonde hair – in truth, he preferred her natural colour – was piled up in some clever way. Wildflowers at the back. She seemed to have a lot of make-up on. 

____

He came up to her. ‘You look cracking.’

____

‘I’m fat,’ she said, hopelessly. The goth make-up wasn’t intentional, then. She’d been bawling again.

____

‘You’re not,’ he said, patiently.

____

‘Look at me.’

____

‘You’re not bloody fat.’

____

‘I am literally the size of a house.’ She gave a huge, weight-of-the-world sigh. She’d been doing a lot of those of lately.

____

‘Nope.’

____

‘A heffalump.’

____

‘You’re pregnant, for Christ’s sake.’ He put his hand on the side of her belly, leaning down and kissing her cheek. ‘You’re not fat.’

____

‘Ugh,’ said Sansa. ‘If you say so.’ Another sigh, and she turned back to the group.

____

‘It’s time, love,’ said Ned. He’d been looking tired of late, getting over a virus that never seemed to go away.

____

‘Gotcha,’ said Arya, as Missy did something to her hair.

Of course she’d gone with a dress that looked like it had been dipped in a deep pink. And she had a couple of tattoos now. And pink hair. It was almost unfathomable, but here she was, a different girl – woman, he supposed he should be thinking – getting hitched, and looking pretty bloody confident about the whole thing. 

____

Arya looked at him as Missy finished her fussing. He gave Arya a look that he hoped said what he felt. That he was proud of her. That she’d come far. 

____

She gave him a faintly sheepish grin, before blinking. ‘Right,’ she said, taking Aoife’s hand. ‘Let’s rock this bitch.’

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > [View post on imgur.com](//imgur.com/3M5Tkpl)   
> 


	2. Sea Lion

**Arya**

When she was fifteen, Arya had sworn never to marry, because boys were dickhead cuntish fucks (Joffrey had been a particular influence in that regard). When she was first going out with Pod, she always thought that they were way too real to get married, and anyway she would fucking _hate_ everyone to be looking at her. And now she was walking down the literal aisle in Clifton Pavilion’s cute main room with her dad, and Aoife between the two of them, holding their hands. 

And there _he_ was: Pod, the best and most badass of all humans in the world, standing at the other end with his boss Tyrion in their royal-blue suits, supposed to be facing the front but instead turning round to pull a faux-astonished smile at Aoife.

‘ _Dadda_ ,’ said Aoife, like a foghorn, miraculously not tearing her hands away and running to him but staying dutifully between Arya and Ned.

They reached him, and Pod picked her up. ‘Hello,’ he said to their daughter. ‘Hello,’ he said to Arya. He looked so shit-hot. 

‘ _Everyone lookin’_ ,’ boomed Aoife.

‘Yep,’ said Arya. ‘That’s because we’re getting married.’

‘ _Mah-weed,_ ’ said Aoife. ‘ _I doin’ mah-weed._ ’ 

‘Yes, you are,’ said Pod. The entire room seemed to let out a gentle, dovecot-coo.

Arya felt, frankly, cooler than ever.

***

**Sansa**

Arya. Getting married. _Arya_. She had never been more proud of her little sister, who was turning into the most incredibly confident person. They had played Billy Idol’s White Wedding as they all came in, and the line ‘ _Hey little sister, who’s your superman?_ ’ had destroyed any remaining semblance of grace and poise as Sansa walked next to Missy. But she was allowed to cry today. It was definitely, totally allowed.

Sansa had done a lot of crying in the last five and a half months, especially recently. Crying over a programme on Scottish rivers, crying over breakfast, crying in the middle of the day at work and having to phone Sandor to cry more. It welled up at almost every opportunity. Pregnancy seemed to consist of crying, eating dry toast, and – in the first two months – violent vomiting every other day, most definitely _not_ just in the morning. Thank God that had stopped.

The registrar was coming to the end of her introductions. ‘If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage they should declare it now.’ She looked benignly around. 

‘I have a big bogey!’ said Oscar, Bronn and Brienne’s son, extremely loudly. Everyone laughed.

Sansa sniffed. Her nose was running so badly.

‘You OK, babe?’ said Missy, _sotto voce_.

‘Perfect,’ said Sansa, as the tears plummeted down her face.

A hand on her shoulder. Sandor was sitting behind her, and now handing her a tissue. He had a never-ending stash. As she took it, he gave her the subtlest, softest wink.

She blew her nose.

***

**Jojen**

‘ _I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart._ ’

Bran was at the front, reading e e cummings, which no doubt he had suggested, because it was much more his sort of thing than Arya or Pod’s. He had a beautiful reading voice. He used to read aloud poems by Frank O’Hara or Rilke or Andrew MacMillan, lying in bed together, absent-mindedly stroking Jojen’s inner thigh tattoo.

‘ _No fate, for you are my fate, my sweet._ ’

God. Jojen wanted to run away, puke. He couldn’t bear it. This beautiful, broken object right here, unavoidable. Bran had taken two terms off university, stayed at home and detoxed, got a shitload of counselling. Raven had been banned from the house. But nothing Jojen did – phone calls, letters, various small, medium and large art-gifts – seemed to make Bran want him again. He’d given up trying.

‘ _This is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart._ ’ 

He still had that odd detachment, a regal coolness. Jojen couldn’t help feel that the poem was being read for the two of them, and wasn’t a celebration but an elegy.

Bran finished, and shut his book.

 _Look at me,_ Jojen thought. _Just one little look_.

Bran gave the faintest smile to the back of the room and sat down. 

Jojen stared at the Arts and Crafts-era wallpaper, feeling a sadness that was nameless, formless. Definitely an elegy.

A very gentle nudge. Missy was looking at him with her best sweetly concerned vibes. He returned the best smile he could muster.

The registrar was cracking on. His best friend and Pod standing up, Aoife being handed to Cat. _Concentrate_ , Jojen told himself. _Happy times._

‘Podrick Alfred Payne,’ she said. ‘Do you take this woman, Arya Clementine Stark–' to which there were several snickers behind them, accompanied by the more distant sound of a macaw – 'to be your lawful wedded wife, to be loving, faithful and loyal to him for the rest of your life together?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Pod, beaming like the bad motherfucker he was.

‘Arya Clementine Stark, do you take this man, Podrick Alfred Payne, to be your lawful wedded husband, to be loving, faithful and loyal to him for the rest of your life together?’

‘Damn straight,’ said Arya.

Ygritte whooped from halfway down. 

***

**Robin**

‘Robin,’ hissed Lysa. ‘Face the front, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Sorry.’ Robin turned back to the awesome couple. Arya and Pod really were the total sickest. It was disappointing that he hadn’t been asked to play for the ceremony, but at least he was fronting Lyanna’s band for the night later on. 

‘ _Robin_.’ 

‘Sorry.’

Thoros, next to Lysa and with Robin’s half-brother Ivan on his knee, looked over with one of his usual benign smiles.

Robin glanced round again. He recognised lots of people from Sansa and Sandor’s awesome hen and stag weekend, as well as their wedding. Meera, Ygritte, Jeyne.

Lysa was looking daggers at him. ‘Who are you looking for?’

‘No one,’ said Robin, slightly unconvincingly, and faced the front. He knew full well that any admission would cause Lysa to immediately put him in a cab home and lock him in his room for several months, or indeed years.

‘And now for the exchanging of rings,’ said the registrar, and Jojen stood up again.

***

**Sandor**

Christ, he wanted a drink. Sansa had gracefully said he could drink as much as he wanted today, but seeing as he hadn’t had any booze for four months, two weeks, three days and fifteen hours, it was going to go right through him. He’d wait a wee bit longer.

The ceremony was over, the long rigmarole of photos about to start. People were drifting off to look at the animals.

He watched Sansa talking to Edmure and his kid. Christ, she looked fucking entrancing. It broke him in at least five different ways to see her so pregnant and in that dress. It broke him every day, to be fair – how her belly was changing shape, the tautness of the skin, the knowledge that their baby was growing day by day in there. He’d felt shite that she had to bear it all, had to hold back her hair countless times over the toilet, made her a hundred ginger teas, but as usual, she was taking it all in her stride. He was doing the no-drinking-in-solidarity thing, because if even Bronn had done it, then he bloody would too.

A couple of months after all the shite that had gone on last year, they’d decided to just go for it. Sansa had insisted that she was ready, and he decided to believe that she wasn’t just saying so for him. It hadn’t happened straight away, but he couldn’t deny the turn-on at knowing there was no contraception, no barrier, between the two of them.

 _Please God_ , he’d thought, more than once. _Don’t let there be anything wrong with my fucking sperm_. 

Turned out not. ‘The Starks,’ Sansa said, as they stared together at the two lines on the pregnancy test, before facing him, wide-eyed. ‘We’re pretty bloody fertile.’ He’d felt his heart thumping like a bastard in his chest.

‘Mate.’ Ygritte was here now, putting a hand on his shoulder, looking a bit concerned. Theon next to her. Ygritte was a full-time nurse these days, and good at leading NHS protests against the government. She’d once been on the local news, though they’d had to censor most of it.

‘Alright?’ he said. ‘What’s up?’ He glanced over towards Sansa, who was currently being rescued by Meera from her great-uncle Brynden, and steered towards the aviary. She seemed OK.

‘Your brother’s here,’ said Ygritte. 

A dull, hard punch in his stomach. ‘What?’ He felt blank, baffled.

‘Well, it looks like him, anyway,’ Ygritte said. Shrugged. ‘I remember him from your do.’ 

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Theon. ‘Couple of inches taller than you. Built like a brick shithouse.’

‘He’s this way,’ said Ygritte.

Sandor followed them past the big cats' enclosure, his mind racing. Why the fuck would he be here, now? It was Arya’s wedding. It had nothing to do with him. His hands gathered into fists, instinctively. He would fucking kill him.

‘Here,’ said Ygritte, stopping, solemn-faced.

He looked past her to the gorilla cage, where a big silverback male was sitting cross-legged, glaring at them. 

A breath. ‘Ha bloody ha.’

Ygritte and Theon simultaneously erupted into laughter.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said. ‘Very fucking funny.’

‘Your face,’ said Ygritte, a hand on his shoulder again as she doubled over. 

‘Priceless,’ said Theon, shrieking in a not-unmonkey-like fashion.

‘You do, though. Look like him.’ Ygritte straightened. A poker face. ‘Spitting image.’

‘I’m going to get a drink,’ Sandor said, trying to ignoring the relief he felt. ‘Before I fucking kill myself.’

***

**Arya**

‘Absolutely bloody lovely,’ said Thoros, as he snapped.

He’d taken them to the archway in the sea lions' area for photos. They’d already stood in front of the lions, the brown bears, and narrowly avoided being shat on by parrots. 

‘Cool, and maybe just face each other again?’ 

‘Not a problem,’ said Arya, and faced Pod. Her husband. _Husband_. He looked so fucking good in his suit.

‘Just got to put another film in,’ said Thoros. ‘Hold it here a second.’

‘Also not a problem,’ she said, as Pod put his arms around her. ‘You’re my husband.' She sniggered. It sounded hilarious. _Husband_. She let out a proper laugh.

‘I’ll be your wife if that’s less funny,’ said Pod, grinning. He was so warm, and smelt of the gingery, lavendery cologne that Ilyn’s mad girlfriend Chella had given him as a present. 

‘Either is fine,’ said Arya. Kissed her husband-wife. A sea lion arced over them.

‘Gorgeous,’ said Thoros, clicking away.

***

**Jojen**

He had to do it. It was ridiculous to avoid him.

Jojen took a champagne from a waiter’s tray and walked swiftly to where Bran was sitting. Margaery was next to him with her baby daughter on her lap, swinging her arms gently in front of her.

‘Hello,’ Jojen said.

Bran looked up. ‘Hello.’

Margaery took an incisive look between them and stood up. A mega-watt beam. ‘Right, Clara and I are going to go and look for penguins. See you in a bit.’ 

Jojen sat down. Drank half of his champagne. Drinking had wavered on being rather dangerous a few months ago in New York. He’d found himself finishing leftover red wine in the mornings, before his mate shook him out of it. He half-glanced over. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Fine,’ said Bran. A small, cool, limpid word, with silence swilling around it.

Jojen tried to remember when they used to lie on each other on the sofa, eating whatever was in the Starks’ cupboards, talking copiously about Futurism and boys’ arses with equal joy. Words were failing him now. ‘Liked the poem.’

Bran just nodded.

He tried to ignore the blur of pain starting to fill his chest. ‘Don’t you want to ask how I am?’ 

Oscar, Bronn’s kid, raced past, Brienne walking calmly after him, holding an ice cream and calling his name.

‘How are you?’ Bran said.

 _Appalling_ , thought Jojen. _I’ve been fucking appalling for eleven months. I’ve missed you so fucking much it hurts my entire everything. Your handwriting is tattooed on my thigh for eternity._ ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘OK.’

Bran's hair was so much shorter. You could see the mole on the right hand curve of his neck now. ‘I’m back at uni now,’ he said. 

‘Yeah. I know.’

Bran blinked, turned his head finally. Those polished, mahogany-brown eyes. ‘I’m thinking of doing a Master’s in time theory.’

Jojen’s heart sank to crush-depth. He was no better. He might not be doing the insane trip-outs he was before, but he just wasn’t the old Bran anymore. He never would be. ‘OK.’ He looked at his champagne. ‘I’m going to get a top-up. Do you want one?’

‘I don’t drink now.’

‘Right. OK,’ Jojen said, getting up before he started crying. ‘See you later.’

***

**Robin**

‘Hi, Sandor, hi Bronn!’ Robin found his favourite large person and best mate standing by the temporary bar, talking about gorillas. ‘I’ve totally got to tell you about my important mission.’

‘Do you have to, though?’ said Sandor, who seemed to be holding his coke in a particularly gloomy fashion. ‘Really. Think about it.’

‘I’ve got to tell someone,’ said Robin.

‘I definitely want to hear it,’ said Bronn. ‘I’m all ears.’

Robin straightened, and gazed over towards the lions, sounding nonchalant. ‘So I’m going to lose my virginity to an older woman tonight.’

Sandor spat out his drink, narrowly missing Robin’s tartanly-besuited shoulder. ‘Jesus H Christ.’ 

Bronn burst out laughing at exactly the same time.

‘Yeah,’ said Robin, casually. ‘You know, I’m properly legal now, so I figured it was time.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Sandor, wiping his mouth. ‘I don’t want to hear this.’

‘I bloody love it,’ said Bronn. ‘Good lad.’

‘There are obviously girls at school, but most of them aren’t quite at my level, you know?’ said Robin. ‘I decided that a more mature woman would understand where I was coming from, artistically-speaking.’

‘Jesus wept,’ said Sandor.

‘No, you’re right, mate,’ said Bronn to Robin. ‘This is a classic place for it. Everyone’s as horny as fuck at a wedding.’ 

‘Don’t fucking encourage him,’ said Sandor.

‘What sort of age are you going for?’ Bronn said, who was obviously really cool and open-minded.

‘I thought 24 upwards?’ said Robin.

Sandor spat out his coke again.

‘Sounds grand,’ said Bronn, putting an arm around his shoulder. ‘Let’s get you a drink and I’ll give you all my best one-liners. I don’t do that for just anyone, you know.’

‘Sick,’ said Robin, and cheerfully allowed himself to be steered towards the champagne bar.

***

**Sansa**

‘All the old crew is here,’ said Ygritte, by the flamingo lake. She was wearing a beautiful pale red dress that somehow didn’t clash with her hair. ‘Like old times. I just miss Oberyn. That man was the best fucking thing since sliced bread. Like Zorro mixed with a spice rack.’

Sansa sipped from her naked Pimm’s. ‘Well, he was Arya’s Spanish teacher, so that would have been weird.’

‘No weirder than her school counsellor being her brother-in-law.’

‘True.’

‘Who’s the little fittie over there? He’s cute as fuck.’

Sansa glanced in the direction of Ygritte’s gaze. Her mind felt fuggy. _Pregnancy brain_ , Arya had said, and rolled her eyes. _Total bitchfest._ ‘Where?’ she said. She could only see Theon, who Ygritte had most definitely experienced already. 

‘Him. Just there. With the boots.’

Sansa almost dropped her glass. ‘Oh my God, Ygritte. That’s Robin.’

‘Robin who?’

‘ _Robin_ -Robin. My cousin. He came to our stag and hen weekend. Performed at our wedding.’

Ygritte scrutinised him. ‘No. Not possible.’

‘He’s _sixteen_.’

‘Jesus. What a fucking difference a few years make.’ Ygritte gave Sansa a sharp grin, before turning back to the milling crowd. She was clearly on a mission. ‘How about that one?’ She waved her glass towards the butterfly area.

‘Which one?’

‘With the hair.’ 

‘Jaqen.’ He was currently gazing deeply at a very large moth on a leaf. Sansa remembered Arya saying he had long hair but it was short now, deep red with a strange blonde streak on one side. He was certainly very striking. ‘Arya’s boss.’

Ygritte was looking at him assessingly. ‘Gay?’

‘I have literally no idea.’

Ygritte sniffed, and downed her champagne in one. ‘Only one way to find out.’

***

**Jojen**

‘Bruv!’ Pyp, his old mate from school grabbed him. Smacked a kiss on his cheek. ‘Proper fucking artist fella now, yeah? Livin’ it up in New York?’

‘Hmm, yeah.’ Jojen had spent the last ten minutes hovering morosely by the tropical fish, wishing rather that he was whatever type had three-second memories. Tried to blink himself into the present. ‘Sometimes.’

‘I always knew it,’ said Pyp, rolling his shoulders back and cricking his neck. ‘So fucking hipster.’ 

‘You’re doing alright yourself.’ Pyp was mostly to be found working on a construction site, but teaching primary school kids graffiti on the side. He would put up photos of himself with a load of gap-toothed kids, all making rudimentary hip hop hand gestures.

‘Raaa, blud. Sometimes, innit. Not gonna be doing an exhibition any time soon, though.’ Pyp jiggled his shoulders. ‘There are some bare fit girls here, man. Who’s that geezer Missy’s with?’

‘Edd. Boyfriend. Ex-soldier.’ Sweet, sad, Missy-adoring Edd. Jojen truly hoped they would never split up.

‘Serious? Has he killed people?’

‘Think so.’

‘No way. He doesn’t look he’d merk a fucking bluebottle.’ Pyp looked over to Jojen for the returned laugh. ‘Mate. What’s up?’

‘Just . . .’ Jojen shook his head. ‘Feeling a bit shit.’ He couldn’t help look over at Bran again, sitting quietly on his own.

Pyp followed his gaze, before putting an arm over Jojen’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got just the thing for that,’ he said, with a rather wicked grin. ‘Trust.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the e e cummings poem if you want to read the whole thing!](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/49493/i-carry-your-heart-with-mei-carry-it-in)


	3. Penguin and Panda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEALTH WARNING: this chapter consists mostly of speeches.

**Arya**

Everything was so goddamned easy. Sansa had been a hot mess at her wedding, and Arya assumed it would be the same for her. But they’d ticked off the ceremony, the photos and now most of the sit-down meal and she still felt pretty fricking awesome.

The room where they’d got married had been reset with circular tables, the head table smack bang in the middle. Each place name was represented by a hand-drawn badge featuring an animal in black and white, naturally. Arya (penguin, to keep the loyalty to work going) and Pod (panda) had frankly had brilliant fun deciding on everyone’s animals. 

Speeches time. Her – yes, the word _husband_ still seemed hysterical – _Pod_ was standing up, tapping the microphone, eliciting warm applause from everyone as the waiters finished serving all the champers. Everyone loved Pod.

‘Thanks all for coming,’ he said. Massive beam. ‘This is amazing.’

‘Too bloody right!’ yelled Ygritte (lioness) from the back.

Theon (baboon) and Pyp (hyena) whooped.

‘Thanks to Cat and Ned and my uncle Ilyn for helping make this wedding possible,’ said Pod. ‘And to Brienne for sorting the discount.’ Brienne (giraffe) held up her champagne glass at him. ‘I think I’m traditionally supposed to say how badass the bridesmaids are looking, but to be honest, the Maid of Dishonour is doing it for me.’

Gentle laughter as Jojen (fox) did a deft, two-fingered salute. Yara (hammerhead shark) wolf-whistled.

‘What’s he saying?’ boomed Grandad Hoster (elephant) to Great Uncle Brynden (orca), who shook his head, impatiently.

Pod took a deep breath, and Arya’s heart went even more marshmallowy. He wasn’t really used to speaking in public, but was doing it in his usual sweet, capable way. ‘As some of you probably know, my parents . . .’ he glanced down at the table, and Arya felt a tear spring up from nowhere. The room had hushed. His head came up again. ‘They’re not here anymore.’

She remembered him first telling her, just as lightly as now, when she’d seen a photo of them at his house. And later, less lightly, crying in her arms. The car crash, the years of pain and bewilderment, quietly getting on with life as best he could.

Pod looked at Arya. ‘But I know that if they were, they’d be really happy for me. And they’d love Arya, and Aoife, almost as much as I do.’

Theon was beginning to sob.

‘ _Loud, dadda_ ,’ said Aoife (wolf cub), on her uncle Robb’s lap (brown bear), her hands over her ears.

‘Almost done,’ he said to her. Looked back up at the room. ‘I used to feel like I’d missed out on family a bit, apart from my uncle.’ A grave, stoic nod from Ilyn (bald eagle) a few chairs down; Chella (rhino) gave him a smacker on the cheek. ‘But more than ever, I feel part of a family.’ A gentle grin at Arya. ‘The best family.’

***

**Sansa**

Oh _Pod_. He was just ridiculously adorable. Sansa blew her nose with the umpteenth tissue that Sandor had given her, and gave it back to him. 

‘You’re breaking a record here,’ he said quietly, putting it in his pocket, because somehow he didn’t mind taking her dirty tissues.

‘ _Good_ ,’ she said.

Pod was finishing up with a toast. It was easy to forget that he was an orphan, like Sandor. Sandor grumbled sometimes about the Stark family madness, but she knew he appreciated it, too. _And the family just keeps on growing_ , she thought, finding her hand resting on her belly again.

Once she’d made the decision to just go for babydom, everything was so much easier. It had given her and Sandor more focus and made sex fairly hilarious at times (lots of him holding her legs up and giving her a shake). Neither of them had forgotten about what the other had done – Sansa snuck a few stalkery, envious looks at Wylla’s Instagram from time to time – but somehow, it just seemed OK. She didn’t have to worry about her position at work at all – Dany had offered her up to a year’s maternity leave.

Now Sansa was growing so visibly, and it felt _right_. Nine days ago, they’d had the scan where you could learn the baby’s sex, and had decided not to. Sandor was painting the baby room an excellently non-gendery yellow, because they were modern and fabulous.

‘To the Stark family,’ Pod was saying.

Everyone was standing up. Sansa took the tiniest sip from her champagne. A tiny bit was definitely allowed.

‘Please give it up for Arya’s dad, father of the bride, Ned,’ said Pod, and passed the mic over.

‘Oh God,’ said Sansa.

Sandor was already there with the next tissue.

***

**Robin**

‘Here we go,’ murmured Uncle Edmure, at Robin’s table. ‘Come on Ned, twenty-two minutes.’

‘I’m still saying eighteen,’ said Great-Uncle Brynden.

Robin had, sadly, got a bit of a dud table where the ladies were concerned. He’d done a head count of all the single women and had come up with a definite list of four. But all four were sitting on very distant tables, giving Robin very little opportunity to begin his charm offensive, seeing as he was stuck with various uncles and his very deaf Grandad.

‘Neither of you are winning,’ said Benjen, on the other side of Robin, as Ned began. ‘My brother likes a speech.’

‘I know, I know,’ Edmure said, drily. ‘Family, honour, _ad infinitum_. We get it every time.’ 

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of honour every now and then.’ Benjen smiled at Robin. 

Benjen was pretty cool. He was involved in the reintroduction of beavers into Scotland, and was now developing a programme for wolves. He had benignly listened to Robin waxing lyrical about Mendelssohn’s Hebridean work, Fingal’s Cave, and the actual cave’s singular acoustic. And roped Robin into the bet over the length of Ned’s speech, which had so far lasted three minutes. 

‘Rosalind, you’re out,’ said Brynden, under his breath. 

‘Ah, alas,’ sighed Rosalind, just as quietly. Edmure’s wife was insanely pretty. Frankly, Robin had no idea why she’d married Edmure.

‘What’s happening now?’ trumpeted Grandad Hoster.

‘Important financial transactions,’ whispered Edmure. ‘Shh.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Right Robin, prepare to lose your hard-earned cash.’

Robin shrugged. He would get ten quid off Thoros if he needed it – it was marvellously easy to get cash off Thoros. He glanced over at his prospective ladies again and recited their names in his heads. _Meera, Jeyne, Ygritte, Yara_. Maybe they could be a song lyric. He looked at his badge again. He felt rather touched that Arya had drawn him a Mynah bird; they were very musical.

‘I’m so proud of Arya,’ Ned was saying now. ‘I’m proud of all of my children, but my youngest daughter, she’s – it’s not always been plain sailing for her. But bloody hell, she’s come up trumps.’ Arya was looking sheepishly at the table.

‘Blimey,’ said Edmure. ‘He’s winding it up.’

‘He can’t be,’ said Brynden.

‘He bloody is.’ 

Ned was turning to Arya. He seemed choked up. ‘You’re a fantastic young woman, and I’ve never been more proud of you.’ 

Theon blew his nose loudly as Ned began his toast, and Robin suddenly found himself in possession of fifty pounds in cash.

***

**Sandor**

‘See,’ whispered Sansa. ‘It’s not just me crying.’

Ned had finished his speech in record time, and sat down again with a smile. He definitely looked peaky, and had obviously decided to save his energy. 

‘You still win first prize,’ Sandor whispered back, and she dug him in the side with her elbow.

He was still a bit narked at his silverback gorilla badge, which had only caused Ygritte and Theon more hilarity between the main and dessert. Sansa was even more offended by her orang-utan-themed one; Arya had given a shit-eating smile and said that she was a) ginger and b) an ape so that she still could mate with Sandor.

The best man was up now. Sandor didn’t know him, apart from the fitting for the suits – the contrast between his own size and this guy Tyrion’s being pretty bloody pronounced. He’d been Pod’s boss at the engineering firm for a year or two, and they seemed to get on like a house on fire. If Sandor was honest, he thought Tyrion a bit of a smug bastard.

Right now, Tyrion was standing on a step to the side of the table, and talking to the entire room as if he’d known them all for years. ‘Now I’ve not known Podrick for as long as many people in this room, but I’ve known him long enough to know this.’ He glanced at Pod, who was blushing. ‘Pod is an exemplary young man. Loyal, practical, clever. You never have to ask for anything twice, or often indeed a first time, because he’s got there before you.’ A comfortable smile. ‘He very patiently listens to me and I swear, whenever we’re in the pub, my pint glass is never empty.’

‘Legend!’ shouted Ygritte.

‘So, a toast to this fine man and his very fine wife,’ said Tyrion, and held up his glass.

‘What’s he saying?’ boomed old Hoster.

***

**Jojen**

Right. Speech. If he didn’t look at Bran, he would be OK. 

Christ, he felt a little stoned. He and Pyp had snuck round the back of the aviary to take a few tokes on Pyp’s not-at-all-bad weed. He’d also offered mushrooms, but Jojen decided it was best to wait until after dinner before he had any of those.

‘Arya is as badass as they come,’ he said to everyone, feeling a little outside himself. He breathed in deeply to try and slow his heart. ‘She’s been there for me a million times.’ _Don’t look at Bran_ , he thought. ‘She’s passionate about what she’s into, and as loyal as fuck.’ Whoops, he probably shouldn’t be swearing. Arya’s mum wasn’t keen on swearing.

‘Yes, boss!’ shouted Ygritte. 

‘And Pod –’ he glanced over at Pod. ‘Watching the two of them do their thing over the years has been an inspiration for me.’ 

_Don’t look at Bran_ , he thought, and looked over his head at other people in the room: Robin (who seemed distracted and was thumbing through a wad of cash), Pyp (giving him the thumbs-up), his sister (putting a solidarity-representing fist to her chest), Arya’s rather enigmatic-looking boss (hard to tell what he was thinking).

He gazed at his little piece of paper, the words swimming a little, and put it in his pocket. He didn’t need it. ‘She couldn’t have asked for a more legendary partner than this dude,’ he said. ‘He keeps it pretty under wraps, but basically if you need a dog rescuing from a burning building, Pod can probably do it.’

Theon howled, doggishly. 

Jojen grinned at him and pointed an admonishing finger. ‘And now they’ve expanded their kickassery with that little nutcracker –’ he gestured lightly to Aoife, who was doing the rounds of her aunts and uncles and was now standing on Rickon’s thighs whilst he held her juice box for her. ‘I feel properly fucking blessed to know them, and I’ll always be there for you guys.’ He looked at his best friend, who was grinning and drinking champagne in an effort to ignore the two shiny tears on her face. He put his mic-free hand on his chest. ‘I swear total allegiance.’

Light applause, and more whooping from the rowdy table. He let out an energetically rakish sigh. Almost there. ‘This’ll probably make me sound like a wanker but I’m someone who looks for the beauty in things. You don’t have to look very deeply at these two – not themselves, though obviously they’re both sexy fuckers –’

‘Yes!’ shouted Theon. Yara shoved him in the shoulder.

‘Mmm- _hmm_ ,’ said Missy, more gently, sitting on Edd’s lap, absent-mindedly tracing her fingers up his neck.

‘What’s he saying?’ boomed Arya’s grandad.

‘But I mean the thing between them,’ Jojen said. ‘I couldn’t ever do justice to how beautiful that is.’

A small sigh rippled around the room, followed by applause. 

‘Yes, fam!’ shouted Pyp.

‘Wanker!’ shouted Ygritte.

Jojen sat down. He’d done it. Got through it. Now he could just get more stoned-slash-mushroom-fucked and gaze at bush babies. Wylla had texted to say she was in town, so maybe he’d see her later, dedicate himself to total obliteration. He took the quickest, merest sliver of a look at Bran; he was staring deeply at the floral display in front of him.

Jojen downed his champagne.

***

**Sandor**

Jesus, so many speeches. He was starting to feel light-headed. One glass of champagne had done enough, even with all the food he’d eaten. After Jojen, Chella had stood up and read something out that old Ilyn had written, and now Arya was up. No surprise that she’d insisted on doing a speech, not just leaving it to all the blokes. She was holding the mic with both hands and looking older than ever.

‘Pod and me had sex before we started going out,’ she said. Titters from the guests. Well, that was a way to start a speech. ‘And we had a baby before we were supposed to.’

A smattering of amused applause. 

‘But to be honest, this bit – you know, the wedding thing – is at exactly the right time.’

Good lass, Sandor thought. Marvelling again at the girl he remembered slouching into their counselling sessions with faint scissor-marks on her forearms, and the girl heading up this wedding.

She finished up with some thanks and another toast, meaning he took another sip, felt even more light-headed and was just about to say so to Sansa when she stood up and held her hand out for the mic.

Arya looked at her quizzically, mouthing ‘huh?’ Passed her the mic anyway.

 _Christ_ , thought Sandor. _Here she goes._

‘I just want to say.’ Sansa took a deep breath. ‘I just want to say how much I love my sister, and how much I love Pod, and Aoife.’ She was welling up. ‘I mean. Their eyebrows. Their everything. And she’s just amazing. She has made this amazing family and I think she is the greatest of all –‘ Sansa burst into tears, to a collective, sympathetic _aww_ from the room.

Sandor stood up and took the microphone off her, his heart beating a little too roundly. ‘I think what Sansa’s trying to say is that Arya’s done some bloody good things of late, what with her course and her job and the wee one. And marrying this fella’s the best decision she’ll ever make. Congratulations, you two.’

Another round of applause as he sat down and Pod put his arm round Arya. More champagne. Jesus, he felt pissed.

Arya was waving her hand at him for the microphone. ‘Right, motherfuckers,’ she said, extremely loudly and ignoring the tight-lipped smile from Cat at yet another curse. ‘Who’s coming down the pub to get wasted?’

The whole room gave its biggest cheers yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	4. Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumper chapter! I wanted to get all the pub stuff in one.

**Arya**

‘Really should have thought about changing at the zoo rather than here,’ Sansa said, putting extra red lippy on.

‘Not as fun, though,’ said Arya, slicking on loads of eyeliner.

This was more like it. The zoo had actually been a bit traditional, if you didn’t count the lions and tigers and shit. Now they were at The Fleece, one of Bristol’s legendary music pubs, a Grade II-listed building with a scuzzy interior, peeling rock posters and tiny, disgusting toilets. Perfect.

‘Seriously, I could hardly turn around in that cubicle.’ Sansa turned to the side, put her hand on her belly. She had on a t-shirt saying PUNK ASS on it over a very stretchy miniskirt.

‘For the millionth time, you are pregnant, not fat. Don’t be such a dickhead.’

‘Harsh,’ said Sansa, but she was smiling.. ‘You look kick-ass.’

‘You managed to say that and not even cry,’ said Arya as she pulled open the door to the hallway. ‘Progress.’

Pod was on stage, helping Thoros set up the last of his DJ equipment, and turned round when she came in, before jumping off the little stage. ‘You look amazing.' He put his hand on his heart and pretended to swoon.

Arya was now in a little blue dress with stars on it, and her DMs. ‘Fanks,’ she said, and kissed him. For the first time since Aoife was born, they were at a party together, and her mum was on grandparent duty. ‘Now let’s get shit-faced.’

***

**Robin**

‘Hello Jeyne!’

Theon was spinning a few tunes while the Bear Island girls set up. Robin had sorted his keyboard, stylophone and ‘cello and was enlisting a few singers for the band karaoke. He would rather have just sung everything himself, but Arya had said it was her way or he didn’t get to perform at all.

More importantly, Robin’s mission had begun.

‘Hello,’ said Jeyne, gazing in rather a bored fashion at him before returning to her phone. Jeyne was incredibly pretty, with long blonde hair, near-translucent skin, and tonight was wearing a yellow flowered dress that was cut all the way down to her abdomen. 

Robin, who was an utter gentleman and also an ardent feminist, managed to not look at the exposed flesh in front of him. ‘Um, I wondered if you wanted to put yourself down for the karaoke?’ He’d decided to make this his first port of call, despite Bronn’s suggestion that _if I had to rate you from 1-10, I would rate you as a 9 because I am the one that you are missing_ would work wonders.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Who are you again?’

‘Oh.’ He tried not to let that dampen his spirits. ‘I’m Robin. Sansa’s cousin?’ He decided not to remind her of Brighton, as he’d only been twelve and not quite as cool, or indeed tall, as he was now.

‘OK,’ said Jeyne to her phone, completely uninterested.

Maybe Bronn was right after all. He was a suave older man, and women did seem to like stroking him for no reason. Only one thing for it. ‘Um, can you touch my hand?’ he said.

Jeyne glanced up at him. ‘What?’

‘Can you touch my hand?’ said Robin. Nervously.

Jeyne gave him a blank, deadpan stare. ‘Why?’

Nothing for it. ‘I want to tell my friends that I’ve been touched by an angel.’

‘Gross on so many levels,’ said Jeyne and went back to her phone. ‘Go away now, please.’

‘OK, sure, no worries!’ Robin gave her a thumbs-up before retreating. It was fine. He just had to warm up.

***

**Jojen**

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Robin was onstage, looking the part in his amazing tartan suit and those boots. What a sweetheart. Jojen felt quite paternal towards him.

Everyone quietened down a bit and turned to the stage.

‘Welcome to the second half of Pod and Arya’s sick wedding! I’m Arya’s cuz Robin, this is Bear Island, and we’re going to do a few tunes before some of you guys come up and sing!’

Lyanna’s punk trio Bear Island (electric guitar, bass and drums) were staring moodily ahead. Fucking adorable. 

‘Obviously everything has an animal theme,’ Robin said. ‘So, for Arya and Pod’s first dance, here is no less than . . .' he gave a marvellously confident howl. 'Duran Duran!’ They launched into ‘Hungry Like The Wolf,’ Robin taking the mic with panache. Jesus, he’d got pretty good. Lyanna was definitely rolling her eyes, no doubt in her head imagining playing Napalm Death rather than ‘80s yacht rock.

‘I still can’t get over it,’ said Ygritte next to him, watching Arya and Pod groove away. ‘How can that up there be the little squirt from Brighton?’

‘Age,’ said Jojen, morosely. ‘Maturity.’

Ygritte looked over at him. ‘What’s up with you?’ 

‘Bit stoned,’ said Jojen. Stoned, and still so extremely aware of Bran’s presence, even when he wasn’t surreptitiously looking at him. It was like an electricity, numbing his skin, his insides.

‘Waster,’ said Ygritte, before looking at him more sympathetically. ‘You aren’t with Dec anymore, then? Or is the other way round? Are you Ant? I can never remember.’

‘I am neither,’ said Jojen, solemnly.

‘Cheer up, you big pansy,’ said Ygritte. ‘There’s more fish in the sea and all that.’

‘Mmm.’ Jojen wished for the second time today that he was a fish, one of those rainbow-coloured, Bridget Riley sorts. 

‘You’ve just got to get back on the horse. Or behind the horse, in your case.’ She elbowed his arm. ‘I’ll give you a tip for free. Bloke over there, Arya’s boss. Jake or summat. Fairly sure he’s batting for your side.’

Jojen barely glanced up. The man was extremely handsome, it had to be said. And he held himself in an elegant way. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’

‘No maybe about it. This is what weddings are for,’ said Ygritte. ‘Get your arse into gear.' She slapped him on the bum, not lightly. 'Literally.’

***

**Robin**

‘Hello, Ygritte!’

Bear Island were performing ‘Dog Days Are Over’ on their own – with Alice, the tall, willowy and very stern bass player on the main vocal – so Robin took his chance to move on to Round Two of his mission.

‘Bloody Nora. I still can’t believe that’s you in there.’ Ygritte, leaning back against the bar, squinted at him. ‘You’ve grown about two feet.’

‘I’ve grown quite proportionally,’ said Robin, with a decent attempt at nonchalance.

‘Have you by God,’ Ygritte said, chuckling. ‘Chuffing hell.’

‘Do you need to sit down?’ Robin said.

Ygritte gave him a hard look. ‘Are you saying I look pregnant? Because I may have eaten seconds and thirds back there, but I’m a bloody size eight, you little fucker.’

‘No,’ said Robin. ‘I was just checking. Because –’ he took a deep breath. Bronn was an experienced older man. He knew things. ‘As long as I have a face, you’ll have a place to sit.’

Ygritte stared at him for a long moment. ‘Come again?’

‘Um. As long as I have a face, you’ll have a place to sit?’

One eye narrowed. ‘Did you really just say that to me?’

‘Let’s say . . . no?’ said Robin.

‘You cheeky little fuck,’ she said. ‘I could have you for that.’

Somehow, Robin didn’t think that she meant _have_ in the way he’d originally hoped. He racked his brains desperately for something to make it up to her, feeling fairly filthy and un-feminist. ‘Um, I’m really sorry. I sort of mis-spoke. It’s just that you’re really pretty and I panicked.’

‘Is that right?’ she said, looking quite a lot like she was still deciding whether or not to slit his throat from ear to ear.

He rifled in his pocket. ‘Can I get you a drink? To say sorry?’ He pulled out his four tenners and two fivers.

‘Yes, you can,’ said Ygritte, taking the whole wad off him. ‘I’ll have a bottle of Prosecco, ta very much.’

***

**Sansa**

Bear Island were impressively good, especially when doing heavier numbers. Robin was amazing, whether he was doing Foxy Lady, Love Cats or War Pigs, the latter complete with lots of Ozzy Osborne-ish head-banging. Now the karaoke had started, with Theon singing I Am The Walrus, and Robin and Alice doing the whooping backing vocals.

‘I’m such a sucker for weddings,’ Missy said dreamily, stirring her mocktail with her straw, as Theon gurned and gyrated onstage. ‘Total softie.’

Sansa was currently sitting with Missy, Meera and Arya at a table near the back of the room. ‘Your turn next, then.’ Edd was seated further away next to Edmure, looking politely bored.

Missy shifted and looked coyly over at his table. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Mate,’ said Arya. ‘Don’t sit around waiting. Do it the Stark way. Get in there. Bish bash bosh.’

‘Even our mum proposed first,’ said Sansa. She looked over to where Cat and Ned were sitting, very close together, her hand on his, and Aoife on her lap with big yellow ear defenders on. It was pretty spectacular that they were still so in love after all these years. Her mum had done loads of looking after him recently, and was so patient. Marriage goals right there.

‘All of you ladies are badass,’ said Meera. ‘And yes, Missy, it’s got to be done. You two are so heartbreaking.’

‘Maybe,’ Missy said, smiling sheepishly. ‘We’ll see.’

‘What animal was he?’ said Meera.

‘Red panda,’ said Arya.

‘ _Edd_ panda,’ said Missy, and smiled again.

Theon had finished his number, and Bronn was taking the microphone as the band launched into What’s New, Pussycat? (Bear Island extremely stony-faced). Immediately, seventy percent of the ladies in the room gravitated towards the front of the stage.

‘Meera,’ said Sansa, to one person who wasn’t. ‘Are you checking out my uncle?’

Meera, who had indeed been looking quite fixedly at Benjen, turned sheepishly back to Sansa. ‘If I say yes, will you kill me?’

‘I may be slightly sick in my mouth, and not because of being pregnant.’

‘He is pretty hot,’ said Missy, glancing over at him. ‘Kind of like a sexy big cat. What animal did you give him?’ she said to Arya.

‘Lynx,’ said Arya.

Meera made a small hissing sound, feigning claws coming out. ‘Perfect match with me being a newt, then.’

‘It was for your job,’ said Arya. ‘Newts like rivers and shit. Lynxes and newts: total ship right there.’

‘Please stop talking,’ said Sansa. ‘That is our uncle.’

‘He’s doing conservation projects in Scotland,’ said Meera. ‘ _I’m_ doing conservation projects in Scotland. It’s a match made in Scottish Highlands heaven.’

‘Someone get the bagpipes out,’ said Missy.

‘I haven’t blown on a bagpipe for a while,’ said Meera. The two of them burst out laughing.

‘ _La la la_ ,’ said Sansa, putting her fingers in her ears. ‘Not listening to bagpipe puns.’

‘Hello bredren,’ said Pyp, coming to join them, as Bronn continued gyrating onstage. He sat down and put his arm round Missy. ‘Now how many of you sexy ladies fancies having a little fun?’

***

**Robin**

‘Hello, Meera!’

Robin was off stage duties again for the next song (Tyrion, singing Eye of the Tiger with impressive panache).

Meera turned, took him in, and put her arm round him. ‘Hello, Robin. You are awesome. Completely spectacular.’ 

Well, this was definitely going better. ‘Thanks!’ said Robin. ‘You look absolutely incredible, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ He’d seen Meera coming back in with Pyp a while ago, and his hopes had faded a little, but perhaps he’d got that wrong.

‘What a total flirt,’ said Meera, and burst into giggles. ‘Bless your heart.’ She touched his cheek. He didn’t remember Meera being quite so touchy-feely in the past, but then he was older now and far more handsome. It was going well.

Robin racked his brain for one of Bronn’s lines to follow that with. He’d seen with his own feminist eyes the reaction Bronn had sparked in most of the ladies in the room when he’d been singing. The evidence couldn’t possibly lie. ‘Hey, do you like the Flintstones?’ he said, trying to sound offhand.

Meera looked very prettily confused. ‘The Flintstones? Sure. When I was six years old, maybe.’

‘Because I may not be your Fred Flintstone, but um, I bet I can make your bed rock.’

Meera stared at him. ‘Hmm,’ she said, in a way that reminded him of her brother Jojen. And then collapsed into laughter.

Damn it.

‘Oh, Robin,’ she said. ‘Bless you, but promise me never to use that line again.’

‘If I promise, will you forget that I said it?’

‘I’m not sure I can.’ Meera giggled and peered into the smoke-machine-fogged darkness, where Benjen was walking holding two bottles of beer. ‘Excuse me, I’ve just got to see a man about a snog.’

***

**Sandor**

‘What animal are you tonight, then?’ 

Sandor was getting himself and Edd a couple of pints at the bar, where Ygritte was currently interrogating the best man. Behind them, Lysa was finishing singing Hounds of Love, Robin looking slightly traumatised behind his keyboard.

‘I’m a lion, apparently,’ Tyrion said, in his urbane, self-deprecating way, giving Sandor the briefest of nods before focusing back on Ygritte. ‘You?’

She held up her badge. ‘Lioness.’ 

‘Well, isn’t that a delightful bit of serendipity,’ he said, with a smug-bastard smile.

‘ _Serendipity_ ,’ repeated Ygritte, peering at him; she seemed a bit addled on something or other. ‘Fancy fucker.’

‘I try.’

She looked at him assessingly for a moment. ‘Shots?’

‘Shots,’ he said, affirmingly, and held his hand up to the barman.

Sandor rolled his eyes and took the pints over to Edd, sitting at a table with Edmure.

‘There you go, pal.’ Sandor put Edd’s pint down in front of him.

‘Ta, mate.’

Edd’s eyes were glued to the stage, where Missy was just starting to sing Honey to the Bee and peering through the gloom for her boyfriend. 

His friend wasn’t smiling as much as he should be at this point. ‘What’s up with you?’ Sandor said.

‘What?’ said Edd. ‘Nothing.’

Sandor looked over to the stage. Missy was currently doing little dance moves, Yara whistling through her fingers. ‘Thinking of doing the same?’

Edd looked startled. ‘No.’ 

Sandor drew his Guinness over and supped a bit of the foam. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

Edd looked back towards the stage. ‘Well, there’s no point, is there.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Well, she’d never say yes, would she?’

‘You don’t know until you ask do you, pal?’ Sandor patted him on the back and stood up.

***

**Robin**

‘Hello Yar-’

‘If I could just stop you there,’ said Yara, swivelling round to him on her barstool and giving him an amused, rather unflinching gaze. ‘I’ve been watching you doing the rounds and, don’t get me wrong, I admire your commitment to the cause, but you’d be barking up the wrong tree with me.’

‘Oh,’ said Robin, trying not to show his disappointment.

She clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘What’s the big hurry?’

‘Hurry?’

‘Rumour has it you’re a man on a mission tonight.’

Robin looked over to the dancefloor, where Bronn was currently dancing with a hair-tossing Margaery, and suddenly got the feeling that he should not have placed quite so much trust in him. ‘Oh,’ he said again, a little more despondently.

‘The way I see it, mate,’ said Yara. ‘You want to look back in a few years and think, “that was bloody perfect.” You don’t just want to throw yourself at the nearest piece of arse just to get it over with. It should be with someone you properly give a damn about. Someone you can make mistakes with, laugh with.’

‘Is that what it was like for you?’

‘God, no.’ She sniffed. ‘My first time was with a student cadet lass against the side of a fish and chip van.’ 

Robin suddenly realised why trying to lose his virginity to Yara would indeed have been unlikely to transpire. 

She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I can bet your bottom dollar that most of the people in this room will have had an embarrassing first go.’ She nodded towards the dancefloor. ‘Even the happy couple.’

Robin watched Pod and Arya dance together. Thoros was now on DJ duties, his headphones half on, nodding cheerfully at the dancefloor as he cued up his next record. Jeyne and Theon were snogging in a corner, and Meera was leaning up to shout in Benjen’s ear about something, whilst he smiled. Robin suddenly felt a little melancholy.

‘Take it from me. There’s no rush.’ Yara caught the bored barman’s attention and ordered him a rum and coke. ‘That’ll put hairs on your chest.’

‘Great,’ said Robin, allowing his glass to be clinked with Yara’s, and feeling rather like it would be at least fifteen years before there was any sign of chest-hair.

***

**Sandor**

‘People keep touching my stomach,’ Sansa said, sitting down next to him. ‘I am now officially extremely fed up of it.’

‘We should hang a sign round your neck,’ he said. ‘Keep Your Fucking Hands Off.’ 

‘That would be fine,’ she said, leaning back on her chair and sighing. ‘I’m tired.’

‘We can go whenever you want.’

‘Not yet. I’ve got to stay until it’s all over. Look out,’ she said, nodding in front of her. ‘Niece incoming.’

Aoife was walking stoutly towards Sandor, wearing her massive pair of ear defenders and holding her small toy wolf out to him. ‘ _Wolf_ ,’ she explained, stolidly.

‘Got it,’ he said. ‘Come on, you massive lump.’ He hefted her onto his knee. ‘How in the hell are you still awake?’

‘ _I mah-weed_ ,’ said Aoife, uncontestingly.

‘Aye, yep, you are. Congratulations.’

‘ _I mah-weed you?_ ’

His heart softened rather a lot. ‘Yep. You and me. That’s it. Like it or lump it. Emphasis on the lump.’

Sansa was looking at them. ‘If you two could stop being adorable so I could stop crying for two seconds, that would be perfectly acceptable.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s the law. You cry at weddings. That said, this is the first one we’ve been to where you haven’t been pissed out of your skull, so that’s a bonus.’

‘You’re an extremely bad man,’ said Sansa.

‘ _Sandor good!_ ’ said Aoife. ‘ _Sandor weelly good._ ’ She pushed her fist into his cheek.

‘See?’ said Sandor. ‘Listen to the judge and jury.’

‘Is this what it’s going to be like?’ she said. Put her hands on her stomach. ‘With this one?’

‘Aye,’ he said. Winked.

***

**Sansa**

‘We’re off, sis.’ Robb had come out onto the street where Sansa was having a breather, his daughter Clara sound asleep in his arms.

‘You look sensational,’ said Margaery, who always looked more sensational than everyone else put together, but had the grace not to say so. She kissed her on the cheek. ‘How are you feeling on it?’

‘Pretty OK now that the vomming has stopped,’ said Sansa.

‘Oh _God_ ,’ said Margaery. ‘I _know_.’

Margaery had seemed to slim down to her normal size in a matter of weeks. Sansa really hoped she would too – she kept having dreams about being left with a baggy sack above her hips.

‘Hoping for a boy or a girl?’ Margaery said.

‘As long as it’s a Stark-Clegane, I don’t care too much.’ 

‘Hero,’ said Margaery, and kissed her goodbye.

Sansa watched them go, feeling rather airier and making a vow never to admit to anyone but Sandor that she secretly wanted a boy.

Ygritte crashed out of the door with Tyrion just behind her. ‘You’re actually alright, you know, for a –’ 

‘I know,’ he said to her, lugubriously, and waved his hand in the air. ‘Get it out of your system while you can. Short-arse, half-pint, etc, etc.’

‘I was going to say Bristolian.’ She leant down a little. ‘But whatever floats your boat.’

He raised his eyebrows in a slow, drunken way. ‘I apologise. I perhaps underestimated you.’

She pointed a single finger towards him. ‘Do that at your peril.’ 

‘I desperately wish to avoid peril.’

‘Good lad.’ She winked and started walking down the road, before turning back. ‘Come on, short-arse.’

Tyrion gave Sansa a gracious half-bow, a wry smile. ‘I bid you goodnight.’ He followed Ygritte down the street.

***

**Jojen**

Time for a smoke and some air. He’d got pretty wasted, though thankfully so far hadn’t taken any mushrooms. Probably best – Theon seemed convinced that some snakes had escaped from the zoo and were climbing up the walls of the loos. 

His phone buzzed as he came out. A quick glance. Wylla. _Yo. Where u at, boyfriend?_ As he texted her back, he became aware of Arya’s boss standing not too far away, standing very still and looking out onto the street. 

Jojen put his phone in his pocket and gave him a nod. ‘Alright.’

The man turned, settling his eyes on Jojen, before giving the sort of small bow a Buddhist monk might. ‘Good evening.’

Jojen held out his joint. 

He gazed at it momentarily. ‘No. Thank you. I do not partake. A clear head is good for an artist.’

‘Van Gogh,’ said Jojen, as laconically as he could. ‘Jackson Pollock. Jean-Michel Basquiat.’

Arya’s boss gave a princely, feline blink. ‘You might argue that those artists would have had happier and longer lives without the intoxicants.’

A shrug. ‘You might argue that their art might have been more shit.’

‘Who is to know.’ He said it in a way that suggested that he did know.

Jojen eyed his joint, before stubbing it out against the wall behind him. ‘Jojen,’ he said, and put his hand out.

Arya’s boss took it, held it without shaking. A warm grip that seemed both firm and gossamer-light at once. ‘I am Jaqen,’ he said, and didn’t release his hand, a thumb pressing gently into Jojen’s palm. 

Jojen felt a strange loosening in his knees. Holy fuck, his eyes were amazing. A tangy, near-golden green. 

‘Your speech was very elegant,’ Jaqen said, still holding his hand.

‘Cheers.’

‘I found it moving.’

Jesus, he felt disarmed. ‘Thanks.’

Jaqen let go of his hand. ‘This wedding makes you unhappy,’ he said. A slight smile.

Jojen laughed, lightly. ‘No. Fuck no. This wedding makes my heart swell.’ His best mate and the brilliant, totally dependable, always unflappable, understatedly hip Podrick. It couldn’t be more perfect.

‘But something saddens you.’

So he was a mind-reader as well as an eerie, unnervingly sexy man-panther. ‘My ex is here. Haven’t seen him for a while.’ He looked at Jaqen, feeling bruisingly vulnerable, wondering why he didn’t feel the need to be cool, implacable Jojen. ‘He’s not the same man he was.’ 

There were shouts from inside as Thoros put on another ‘90s banger. ‘We do not all remain the same person our whole lives,’ said Jaqen. Maybe he did philosophy on the side. ‘We move through phases.’ – he pronounced it _faces_.

‘Who have you been?’

‘I have explored several trades. Several modes of expression.’

‘Me too, I guess,’ said Jojen, remembering his flirtations with modern dance, video art, sculpture, photography, mime, textiles, mixed-media installation, conceptual art, performance art. He didn’t know who the hell he was, really. In art or in life. 

‘It is natural,’ said Jaqen. ‘It is commendable.’ 

The man had guru-like vibes. Jojen could imagine going on a retreat up a remote Japanese mountain with him and doing literally everything he said. 

Jaqen straightened. ‘It has been enjoyable, but I shall leave the wedding now.’ Those crazy underwater-feline eyes settled on him. ‘And you?’

Jojen suddenly felt very calm. It was probably the weed. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Me too.’

***

**Sandor**

It was getting towards the end of the night. Sansa said she’d just dance with her dad, as promised.

She looked even fucking sexier in that outfit, the skirt clinging to her bump. Her skin had started getting more creamy, and he hadn’t thought that possible. Christ. She did him in. He would never fuck up again. Not as long as he lived.

Cat had appeared by his side with Aoife now sound asleep in her pushchair, and together they watched Sansa and Ned. Arya and Pod were next to them, Pod’s chin on Arya’s neck. It was nice to see them just being kids again, which was exactly what they were.

‘You’ve a bloody lovely family, Cat,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Sandor,’ she said.

The slight catch in his voice made him turn. Cat’s eyes were moist. ‘Is anything wrong?’

She was clutching her gin to her chest. She smiled, but there was a huge sigh in it. ‘There’s never going to be a good time to tell them,’ she said, still watching them. ‘We thought we’d wait until after the wedding at least.’ She turned to him.

And as Sandor listened to Cat, he watched his wife, and his sister-in-law, and felt his heart crack.

***

**Arya**

‘Is it me, or are people starting to look pretty wasted?’ Arya said. She was sitting on Pod’s lap, having a breather from their back-to-back DJ set (including a weird remix of The Lion Sleeps Tonight that Tyrion and Ygritte had gone mad for before they disappeared together) and dancing.

‘Yeah,’ said Pod. ‘A little bit.’

Theon and Jeyne seemed really fascinated by the walls, trailing their hands on it. Pyp was dancing on his own, head tipped up to the ceiling, arms out. Meera was currently playing with Uncle Benjen’s beard – not that he seemed to mind.

‘I can bet your bottom dollar that Pyp had something to do with it,’ she said. 

‘You can bet my bottom anything,’ he said, and beamed.

His beam was hers, now. _He_ was hers. Hers for all time, by law. ‘I can’t wait to go to bed with you,’ she said. They’d booked a hotel room, and were going to be daughter-free for one whole night.

‘Me neither.’ He kissed her neck.

Cat and Ned were coming over with Aoife in her pushchair, dead to the world despite the extremely loud ‘90s acid house Thoros was playing. 

‘We’re going to take this one home now,’ Cat said.

She and Pod stood up. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Arya leant down to kiss her daughter lightly on the cheek. Her mouth was open slightly, the tiniest little bit of drool.

Ned hugged her. ‘Well done.’ He didn’t let go of her.

‘I didn’t just win a race,’ she said.

‘I’m proud of you, that’s all.’ He finally drew back, shook Pod’s hand, then brought him in for a long hug, too. ‘You’ll look after her well, won’t you?’ he said to her.

‘Always,’ said Pod.

‘Jesus, Dad,’ said Arya. ‘Getting a bit mushy in your old age.’

He looked knackered. ‘A father’s got a right to be a bit mushy when his daughter gets married.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now have a good night, you two.’

‘You betcha,’ said Arya, and watched them go. She turned to Pod. ‘Just you and me now.’

He pulled her to him, his arm over her shoulders, and kissed the place she loved him to kiss, the skin of her neck just below her ear. His lips were so warm. ‘Just you and me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Minor Game of Thrones character alert!** [Alys Karstark, who pledges allegiance to the Starks in Season 8. I modernised the spelling of her name.](https://heavyeditorial.files.wordpress.com/2019/04/alysandnedumber-e1554864114761.jpg?quality=65&strip=all)
> 
>  **British tip:**  
>  Ant and Dec are a much-beloved and long-standing TV presenter duo who look younger than their years.
> 
> PS Full credit to Jillypups for the ship Benjeera! She has a few fics with this pairing in it.


	5. Fox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thanks for readinggggg and for all your badass comments!

**Sansa**

‘I am so wiped,’ Sansa said.

‘You did well.’ Sandor shut the cab door and sat back.

‘It’s only five and a half months,’ she said. ‘Just imagine what I’m going to be like at eight and a half.’ She put her hand on her belly again. _Hello baby_ , she thought. Wondered how much of Thoros’ acid house DJ set it had absorbed. 

‘You’ll be like a fucking goddess is what you’ll be like,’ Sandor said, before leaning forward to tell the driver the Starks’ address.

Sansa lay her head back and watched the street roll away, a few student types walking up to the pub. One of the girls had green hair, and for a moment she thought – but it couldn’t have been. _Shut up, Sansa_ , she said to herself. _It’s just you and him now_. She looked over at Sandor.

He took her hand, kissed it, and kept on holding it in his lap. Put his own head back. ‘Christ, I’m pissed,’ he said.

She smiled at him. ‘Lightweight.’

***

**Jojen**

Jaqen lived in a penthouse flat with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking much of Bristol. Jojen had never really seen his home city from this angle. You could see church spires, the cathedral, new flats, old Georgian crescents, and a glimpse of the river snaking darkly past the waterfront. 

Jaqen brought over small Japanese cups of green tea, a lemony, grassy scent. The man didn’t booze or anything. He probably did a fuckload of t'ai chi.

‘You like Japan, too?’ Jojen asked.

Jaqen gave a demure nod. ‘I admire their traditional aesthetics. _Wabi_ must always be followed by _sabi_.’

Jojen held onto his cup very tightly and tried not to wilt. ‘Safe,’ he said. He had taught himself Japanese aesthetics aged seventeen, drooling over photos of 18th century tea bowls. _Miyabi_ , he thought now, looking at Jaqen, who stood perfectly straight and seemed as light as air. _Elegance, polish, grace_. ‘Where are you from?’

‘I am Brazilian,’ Jaqen said. ‘And you are Bristolian.’

‘Not quite as exciting.’

Jaqen gave Jojen an exactingly refined look. ‘I would not say that.' 

Jojen’s head spun in a light, enchanted sort of way. Surely Pyp’s weed. He’d had a bit more than he would usually, what with the trauma of Bran all day and everything. He sauntered, or possibly stumbled, to the sofa, and carefully placed his cup down on a small bamboo mat before he spilt it everywhere. 

Jaqen sat next to him, cradling his own cup. 

‘I’ve been a bit of a mess,’ he said, wondering again why he wanted to tell Jaqen everything.

‘You feel,’ said Jaqen. ‘You are sensitive.’

‘I am a bit.’

‘It is a gift. We must move through difficult times in order to experience more pleasant ones.’ He spoke in a languid murmur. ‘The world is full of light and dark.’

He looked like a Picasso. Bold, angular strokes. ‘You’re really fucking sexy,’ said Jojen.

Jaqen gave a cool, knowing, but still rather charmed smile. ‘And you are exquisite,’ he said, before he put a hand out and touched Jojen’s cheek.

Jojen wondered if he might float dead away. ‘I’m a bit stoned.’ It came out as a whisper.

‘I know,’ said Jaqen. ‘I will look after you.’ And he leaned in, and kissed him. 

***

**Robin**

‘Hello, my man.’

Robin, taking an amp through the main room of the pub to Thoros’ van outside, turned to see a green-haired vision leaning against a pillar, holding a pint of cider. ‘Wylla! What are you doing here?’

Wylla rolled her shoulders back. ‘Heard that my homie was in from New York. Thought I’d come over this way – a couple of mates of mine are playing a gig tomorrow.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Though sounds like Jojen has blown me out for a booty call. Bloody typical.’

Robin had always been a little bit in love with Wylla since meeting her and Irri at Jojen’s in London. How could one not be? She had green hair, amazing tattoos, a lip piercing, a smile like an extremely hard, pointy diamond, and she was an artist. Like Robin. She and Irri had always been very encouraging whenever he sent them videos or audio of his latest masterpieces (which he did often).

‘It’s so nice to see you!’ he said, suddenly blissfully happy.

‘Bless. Come to your Auntie Wyl, then,’ she said, and opened her arm up. ‘You look fucking heart-crushing, by the way.’

As Robin hugged her, he realised that providence had finally fallen upon him. He’d been focusing on all the wrong older women, when clearly Wylla, aka Venus of South Tottenham, was his fate.

***

**Jojen**

Jaqen was sitting up again and Jojen’s crotch was glowing. His head fizzed and crackled and his lips felt numb. There seemed to be some spacious electronic music featuring saxophones and birdsong on in the background and he had no idea when it had started. ‘Wow,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Jaqen. His eyes seemed to be made of some sort of precious mineral. His gaze flickered to the badge Jojen was wearing on his shirt collar, the one Arya had drawn. A fox. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

Jojen felt completely in the palm of his hand. ‘Would you . . . would you fuck me, please?’

A graceful half-nod. ‘As you wish.’

‘Yeah. I do wish.’

Jaqen stood up, looking almost exactly as polished as before, and held out his hand. ‘Shall we move to the bedroom?’

‘Totally,’ said Jojen.

***

**Robin**

Wylla sat down as Alice walked past with her bass guitar and pedal case. ‘Been gigging at the big do, then?’

‘Totes.’ Robin rattled off some of the songs they’d performed. He was really proud of himself. Even Lysa had said how good he’d been.

‘Lovely. Good wedding?’

‘The awesomest.’

She crossed one heel on the opposite knee. Tapped the table with her silver nails. ‘How’s the big bad? What relation is Sandor to you again?’

‘Oh, he’s my cousin Sansa’s husband, so cousin-in-law, I guess.’ Robin shrugged and looked behind him at the mostly empty pub. ‘Yeah, he’s good, I think – they’ve gone home now.’

Wylla shrugged. ‘Probably best.’ She took a swig of her cider.

‘Yeah,’ said Robin. ‘Sansa’s pregnant, so she probably needs her rest.’

Wylla was swilling the cider absent-mindedly round in her glass. ‘Yeah, I heard.’

There was a bit of an awkward silence. Robin wondered when he should make his move. ‘So I guess I’ll be going back to rehearsing with my other three bands this week,’ he said, brightly.

She blinked, grinned at him. ‘You’re going up in the world, Robin. I feel it in my waters.’ 

His hopes rose like little champagne-bubbles. ‘Yeah, hopefully!’ he said. ‘Though, um, I’m kind of hoping my evening isn’t over.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ She was taking a cigarette packet out of her jeans. 

‘Um, yeah,’ said Robin, wondering how to do this. Perhaps direct was best. None of the other lines had worked. ‘I’m hoping to, um, yeah. Sort of lose my virginity tonight.’

‘Wowzers,’ said Wylla, and put her cigarette packet down on the table. ‘Anyone particular in mind?’

Robin’s heart was beating so hard that he was seeing stars. ‘Um,’ he said, and waited for the Bear Island girls to pass them again before speaking. ‘You would be my perfect choice. If you would do me the honour of having me.’

‘Wowzers,’ she said again, but didn’t slap him or laugh at him.

‘You’re really beautiful, Wylla,’ he said, feeling bolstered by the second. ‘You’re like an incredible arty mermaid-goddess who should be worshipped daily. Your video installations are amazing and deserve to be at the Venice Biennale, your hair is literally the prettiest thing in the world, and your eyes make my heart want to explode into tiny red velvet cupcakes.’

She looked at him, quite seriously, and Robin realised that it really, truly, was going to happen. He was actually going to lose his virginity to the best older woman there was.

Carefully, Wylla moved her pint glass to one side, and faced him again, her jade-green eyes rather solemn. ‘Robin, that is probably – no, scratch that – that _is_ the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Seriously. You are a special person.’

‘Thank you,’ said Robin, wondering whether it would be right to take her hand now.

‘But . . .’ Wylla had taken _his_ hand. Wow. Actually holding his hand. She gave him a gentle, crooked smile. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Oh,’ said Robin, feeling his cupcake-heart-pieces fall into a melty heap. ‘Is it because I’m young? I’m very mature. Honest. I listen to Radio 3 in the middle of the night and Radio 4 in the mornings.’

She took a big breath in that was also a smile. ‘No doubt about that, my man. It’s just that I don’t see you that way.’

‘I’m not your type?’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I guess not. Not as a lover.’ 

She had actually used the word _lover_ in relation to him, which was pretty complimentary even if she was rejecting him. ‘What is your type?’ he said, trying to clamber over the despondency and just have a fabulous, adult conversation about sex.

She let go of Robin’s hand and stretched. ‘Depends how I’m feeling. Boy, girl. Big, small.’

Robin tried very hard not to become aroused. ‘Yeah, me too,’ he said, probably unconvincingly. 

She was watching him, a gentle, sympathetic grin on her face. ‘What’s the rush with all this, anyway? I did it all way too young. You take your sweet time. No one’s going to think any less of you.’

‘I suppose so. It’s just –’ he gave delicate sigh. ‘I haven’t even been kissed.’

There was the showering clink of glasses from behind the bar, and the sound of Thoros’ van doors shutting. 

Wylla was regarding him with the same thoughtful, rather maternal smile. Then she leant over and before Robin could really take it in, was holding the right side of his face in her hand and putting her lips on his. Literally, actually, giving him one sweet, perfect, mermaidy kiss.

She drew back. ‘And that,’ she said quietly, patting him gently on the chest. ‘Is your lot.’ She stood up, pointed a finger at him. ‘Just be glad I didn’t do that while your bandmates were walking past.’

Robin, lost in a sweet, mermaid-y daze, blinked. ‘Why?’

‘Because every time they’ve walked past with gear, one of them’s been looking at you,’ she said. ‘I think she might have killed me.’ She stood up, drained her glass. ‘Right, I’m going to track down my Brizzle gang.’

Robin felt baffled. ‘But . . . which one?’

‘The tall one. Bass player, maybe? Looks like Florence Welch.’ She grinned. ‘I reckon you’re in there.’

***

**Arya**

‘Jesus fucking Christ.’ Arya lay back on the bed, naked, and flung herself out in a star shape. She was so sweaty. 

Pod lay back next to her. Equally naked and sweaty. Watched her with his big brown-sexy-motherfucker eyes, his cheeks ragingly red.

‘Jesus,’ she said again. They’d had sex several ways, making the most of this cool-ass boutique hotel that hopefully didn’t have sensitive neighbours either side currently lodging complaints at the noise. ‘That was so killer hot.’

He slid an arm under her neck, placed a hot palm on her stomach.

‘Pod,’ she said.

He looked at her.

She traced a finger from his throat down his chest, very lightly. Carefully glanced up at him. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your parents.’

He smiled, and tears came at the same time. Just a few. He blinked them away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said.’ Ruining her sexy wedding night by making her husband cry. Classic.

He shook his head. ‘Yes, you should. It’s nice. I’m sorry, too. I meant what I said. They’d have liked you.’

She kissed him, once, twice. He gathered her up into one of his best Pod-hugs, the two of them glued together so tight they were basically one big, weirdly-shaped mass. Kissed her some more.

She pulled back. ‘We’re totally married, aren’t we?’ she said.

He gazed at her. Put his hand in her pink hair. ‘Yep. We are.’

‘Are you happy?’

‘The happiest,’ he said, and slid his hand underneath her bottom.

***

**Sandor**

‘What’s wrong?’

It always felt odd being in Sansa’s old room at the Starks’ house. A bit too unnervingly like she was still a teenager, though Cat and Ned had redecorated it very tastefully into a guest room.

‘Nothing,’ he said, lying on his back, hands clasped on his stomach. The room was spinning a bit. He’d hardly drunk anything and he was as pissed as a newt.

She turned her head to him. ‘Nothing?’

He hesitated, remembering again what Cat had told him, how the heaviness had set into his bones. It wasn’t his place to say, but maybe she should know. 

‘Oh my God,’ said Sansa, suddenly.

‘You OK?’

Sansa turned to him. ‘Oh my _God_ ,’ she said again, and her mind seemed to be somewhere else. Maybe she knew already. She’d sensed it.

But she took his hand, and put it on her bare belly, with her palm on top. And he felt it. Movement, under the skin. It was like a muscle, twitching.

Except it wasn’t a muscle. It was their baby, moving.

They lay there, still, not making a sound, her hand on top of his. He felt a lump in his throat, the closeness to this thing they were making, the complete knowing and unknowing of it. _I’m going to look after you_ , he thought. _With my every fucking blood cell_.

There was the click of the front door, Rickon, Lyanna and Bran talking quietly. 

‘What were you going to tell me?’ she said, very softly.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter for now.’

But he knew it would matter, and very soon, and that it would matter forever.

***

**Jojen and Arya**

Jojen:  
_Morning beautiful bride/heroine_

Arya:  
_Morning party pooper where did u go last night_

Jojen:  
_I was indisposed_  
_Had an unexpected sort of evening_  
_I have something important to say_

Arya:  
_**raised eyebrow emoji**_

Jojen:  
_The penis: mightier than the sword_

Arya:  
_Hahaha typo much hahaha_

Jojen:  
_No typo_

Arya:  
_Wait_  
_What_  
_WAIT_  
_No fuckin way what wait_  
_Why aren’t you answering_  
_Pick up you fuck_

Jojen:  
_Now is not the time_

Arya:  
_Srsly bro no way what JAQEN????????????!!!!!!_

Jojen:  
_I shall forthwith only text in haiku_

Arya:  
_Omg wtf_

Jojen:  
_in a penthouse suite_  
_a Japanese aesthetic_  
_and bliss for my dick_

Arya:  
_haaaaaa jfc_

Jojen:  
_a night of green tea_  
_some Egyptian cotton sheets_  
_and a lot of rope_

Arya:  
_Omg_  
_I HAVE TO WORK FOR HIM U KNOW_  
_jfc_  
_im going now you crazy fuck_  
_have wifeing to do_

Jojen:  
_big congrats on that_  
_was a fucking lit wedding_  
_you two mend my heart_

Arya:  
_Think someone else did that by the sounds of things_

Jojen:  
_I do need repairs_  
_not my heart but other bits_  
_from last night geddit_

Arya:  
_TMI BRO GOING NOW TO SNOG MY HUBSAND_  
_HUSBAND_  
_whatevs_

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (short) one is, errrrr, right around the corner. I can't stop. I PROMISE AN EDD POV FOR EDD-FANS.


End file.
